


Mnemosyne

by moodyme



Category: Torchwood
Genre: F/F, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-06
Updated: 2015-08-28
Packaged: 2018-04-11 20:05:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4450415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moodyme/pseuds/moodyme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ianto Jones remembers. These are fragments of his memories. Some good, some bad. His meetings, and everyday lives with some of the people that changed his life. Sometimes for the better, sometimes for the worse.</p><p>(Each chapter is named for one of the nine Muses born to Mnemosyne and Zeus with the content of that chapter based upon that particular Muses gift.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Calliope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An eighteen-year-old Ianto Jones meets a singer/songwriter and everything goes downhill from there.  
> Part one of two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Please note that this chapter is Ianto/OMC.)

 

 Ianto Jones had only been living in his flat in London for two weeks when he was mercilessly awoken from his slumber by a loud thud. It was early, far too early to be awake given the night he'd had and Ianto was more irritated at this moment than he has been in all the two previous weeks combined.

 Through his hangover fogged mind, he managed to acknowledge that, at any other time, the rhythmless thud-thud-thud from next door wouldn't bother him at all. If anything, he would smile and mentally congratulate whoever was getting shagged so early in the morning. But at any other time he wasn’t this tired, his head didn’t hurt this much, and he couldn’t help but wish he were living next to someone more... celibate.

 With a groan, he grabbed his duvet and pulled it over his head in an attempt to block out some of the noise. Unfortunately, it was in vain as the thudding continued on as before, each thud adding layer upon layer of pain to his already nearly excruciating hangover. Ianto wondered how long his poor head would have to suffer and tentatively peeked open one eye to get a glance at his alarm clock. ' _4:47_.' Ianto thought angrily _'Some bloody idiot is getting their brains shagged out at 4-bloody-47 in the morning_.'

 Ianto had never met his neighbor whose bedroom was obviously separated from his by a thankfully (if the lack of moans and groans and words he was very much not hearing was any indication) thick wall. But, mentally, he was throwing every expletive he knew at the insensitive prick. Or twat. No matter their gender, he was beginning to hate them either way.

 A few moments later and Ianto sighed with relief. The incessant thudding was finally over, ending much more abruptly than Ianto would have assumed. With another large sigh of relief, Ianto changed into a more comfortable position and drifted back to sleep.

 “Shwha!” Ianto exclaimed, waking with a start. His head was pounding, his heart racing erratically and he had no memory of when exactly he had sat up. Instinct quickly took over and his eyes began to dart about the room, searching for the cause of his sudden wakefulness. Not spotting any homicidal maniacs creeping about his dimly lit bedroom, he tried to calm his still pounding heart. Dragging a hand over his face, vague memories from earlier started to come into his brain with an annoying randomness.

' _Thudding. That really pretty redhead. Idiot_   _next door. How much vodka did I drink? Were we even drinking vodka? Craig is... who again? Stupid, stupid shagging neighbour. I am never mixing alcohol again. Pain. Pain. Pain_.'

 The flow of memories was cut short by someone tapping at his door. 'Just past 6. A much more reasonable time.' He thought bitterly after a quick glimpse of the alarm clock. After swinging his legs over the side of the bed, Ianto inhaled deeply before rising to his feet and was happily surprised to find how steady he felt. He was just past the doorframe of his bedroom when the person on the other side of his flats front door tapped again, louder and more rapidly than previously. Suddenly, Ianto didn’t know if the nausea he was now feeling was a result of the cocktail of nervousness and fear he now had or if it was the remnants of last nights alcohol protesting against still being inside him.

 With a deep breath, he pushed the rising bile deep down and pulled the door open. Only to be met with someone's fist tapping once, twice, three times against his left shoulder.

 "What?" Ianto hissed, his eyes squinting against the harsher light of the hall, annoyance flooded over him. Annoyance at having to be awake at such a godawful hour on his day off. Annoyance at his headache. Annoyance that he had struck out last night. Annoyance at his neighbour. But mostly, he was annoyed at the idiot who had used his shoulder as a substitute for the door.

 "My god, are you alright? Do you need me to call 999?" Ianto felt his annoyance slowly dissipate at the words of the very panicked, very pretty, looking man facing him. His mouth was suddenly dry and his previous annoyance was being replaced with confusion. Ianto unconsciously licked his lips as he took in the sight of the stranger.

 He had skin paler than his own, a straight, thin nose, high cheek bones, striking green eyes and black hair. And very, very nice lips. All adding up to paint a lovely picture of a human face indeed. Ianto allowed himself to let his eyes wander over the rest of the stranger, happy to find that his lean body was clothed in only a pair of low rising, loose fitting dark jeans.

 "Excuse me, did you hear what I said? Are. You. Alright?” The gorgeous stranger interrupted Ianto’s admiration of his form and Ianto realized he had zoned out. On a beautiful stranger. Again.

 “Oh, um. Yes? I’m fine?” He finally managed, his face heating up in embarrassment.

 “Are you sure?” The stranger pressed, furrowing his brows. “I heard you screaming. Are you sure no one was trying to hurt you?”

 Ianto felt his heart sink. He had been screaming in his sleep. Another nightmare. For just a moment, earlier, he had wondered if that had been the cause of his sudden shift from asleep to awake. But he had been more than happy to push that thought aside when he realized he didn't remember the nightmare. He always had before. And, since he had not had any nightmare's the entire time he had been in London, he had started to hope that his hypothesis that his nightmares were somehow tied to his environment was correct. He had hoped that he was finally free from his nightmares. And now he felt all that hope shatter cruelly around his feet.

 "Sorry, it was nothing." Ianto knew he sounded sheepish, but found he really didn't care. "I just had a bad dream, that's all. I hope I didn't wake you?"

 The stranger waved his hand dismissively, now looking much less panicked as he smiled broadly at Ianto, who found himself slightly dizzy from that smile. Or maybe that was his hangover? He couldn’t tell.

 "No, no you didn't wake me. I was already up. Or rather, I haven't gone down yet. To bed I mean. But I heard you scream and I just. Well, the last flat I lived in, the bloke next to me was offed by his girlfriend. The one before that this older woman, a lovely lady really, ended up killing her mother. With a cutting board. As it is I've become a bit paranoid that all my neighbours will be murdered in horrible ways. I'm Paul by the way."

 Ianto gaped at Paul, hangover addled brain trying to keep up with the word vomit spewing from his mouth. He looked at his eyes again and found a redness he hadn't noticed before.

 "Are you high?" He asked, voice low, one eyebrow quirked. Paul looked at him, his expression blank, before be started giggling.

 "Maybe. Yes. A little. Or more than a little. I haven’t decided yet." Paul told him, grinning from ear to ear. Ianto felt the corners of his own lips tug upwards in a cheap imitation despite his still pounding head. Until a horrible thought occurred to him.

 "Are you the neighbour to the left of me?" Ianto asked, somewhat surprised at the vehemence he heard in his own voice. Paul took a few steps back and leaned against the wall opposite, just next to the small tear in the wallpaper that had bothered Ianto since the day he moved in. His grin not fading a bit the whole time.           “Yes?" He answered simply, his head tipped now to the left in an inquisitorial way that Ianto thought both looked adorable and annoying. Huffing in irritation, Ianto pointed an accusatory finger at paul.

 "You woke me up last night with your shagging which made my hangover which caused my hangover to be so bad." Ianto said, his voice losing a great deal of vehemence in the face of Paul's brilliant smile. A smile that had lost some of its innocence and was looking much more predatory than it had just a few moments ago.

 "I wasn't shagging anyone," Ianto opened his mouth to protest, but Paul quickly continued, "nor was anyone shagging me." Which just made Ianto scoff.

 "No, it's true! In fact... tell me your name and I'll tell you what that noise really was." Paul offered, tilting his head from the left to the right.

 "Jones, Ianto Jones.” Ianto sputtered, and felt his face heat involuntarily as he mentally kicked himself. He hated it when his inner Bond fanboy unleashed itself. It made him feel twelve and awkward all over again. Paul snorted once, obviously trying to repress a laugh.

 “Nice to meet you Mr. Jones.” He said, his voice taking on an odd accent, different to the Northern accent he had been speaking in. Ianto rolled his eyes.

 "Alright then, I’ve told you my name. Keep your end. What were you doing if not shagging, because that’s the only reason I can think of for your headboard to be banging against my wall." Ianto was genuinely curious. Paul pushed himself off the wall and inched forward slowly until he was standing close enough that Ianto could feel his warm breath against his cheek.

 "My headboard was banging against your wall because," Paul whispered, his voice was husky now and Ianto gulped while waiting for him to continue. "I was jumping on the bed." And Paul was laughing again at Ianto's confused expression but he was walking back to his flat before Ianto had time to fully process what he had said. Ianto gaped at Paul’s back, speech leaving him momentarily, struck by the ridiculousness of Paul’s explanation. By the time Ianto can close and reopen his mouth to demand a further explanation, he was cut off by the sound of Paul's door shutting.

 

* * *

 

 

 Three months passed and Ianto's party life had decreased significantly. He had to be at work before 6 and was often too tired when he got back to his flat to go out again. He hated his job as a teller at Tesco's, but it paid the bills and rent was so much higher in London than in Cardiff. And he never felt the need to go out to be distracted from his thoughts and loneliness so much since he had such a wonderful distraction next door.

 Paul was... well, Paul was a lot of things. For one, he was absolutely mental. Like when he claimed he needed to jump on a bed to think sometimes or when he would wake Ianto up in the middle of the night to talk to him about everything from the theory of evolution to who would win Big Brother. He also had a collection of thimbles that Paul didn’t know he knew about.

 He was the songwriter, singer, and bassist in a band, which Ianto found hot, but would DJ at weddings and birthdays for his rent "Until he made it big." And Ianto loved nothing more than catching Paul doing little that had to do with his music, like when he hum softly while stroking Ianto as they lay in bed. Or catching him in one of his songwriting moods, locking himself in his room only to come out after several hours and two or three new songs to show Ianto and the band.

 Paul had also lived in London most of his life, and had a large and eclectic group of friends who were always around at odd hours. From the Italian street photographer who wore increasingly odd clothes to the waitress at the closest Nando’s to the tall guy Ianto had seen at nearly every gathering of more than 10 of Paul’s friends but had never seen speak. Paul and a few other friends insisted he was referred to only as “God” and that when he did speak, his words were so profound and wise he had earned the admiration of the entire area. Or, at least, everyone in the area that heard him speak. Some of Paul's friends Ianto hated, some he tolerated, but most were alright so he didn't mind it when they would gravitate between Paul's flat and his.

 Ianto, who had always been taught reserve, had never known anyone to be as open and free with his emotions as Paul was. If he was angry, he would tell you. If he was sad, he would tell you. If he was turned on… he would tell you. And if he liked you? He made sure you knew. Ianto quickly learned that once you were in Paul’s good graces, it seemed you could do virtually anything you wanted and still stay inside them. If he didn’t like you… he made sure you knew that too. All these things Ianto loved about Paul. But there were sides of Paul Ianto hated also.

 Like his constant need to win every debate. Paul loved debating anyone on any subject he could rope them into and wouldn’t let up until it was a full blown debate with spectators and judges and commentators. Paul was naturally gifted with oratory skills, being able to win a crowd over easily when he wanted to. And if you were debating him, he was excellent at twisting everything you said until he had confused you so much he had you convinced you were wrong and he was right all along.

 Paul could also be stubborn, and Ianto was often frustrated with his petulant nature. Despite being three years older and claiming to be so very worldly, Ianto thought Paul was too often childish. But even Paul’s faults Ianto often found adorable. Excluding one. His dependency of drugs. 

 Whenever there was the slightest roadblock in his plans, or when he was bored or tired or upset, he could be found snorting. Or injecting. Or smoking. At first, Ianto had ignored it. He had even felt compelled to join him and sometimes his friends on a few occasions. But over the past month, his mild dependency had rapidly accelerated to full grown addiction. He wasn’t just occasionally taking a line of coke or a sharing a blunt with his band mates anymore. When Ianto had found come home from work one day to find Paul despondent on his sofa, his kit at his feet, Ianto knew something had to be done. He had been complacent to his downward spiral for too long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Calliope is the Muse of Eloquence and Epic Poetry. She was known for being wise and for winning a singing match against the daughters of the king of Thessaly.
> 
> Part two of Pauls story to be posted next week. Probably.


	2. Calliope Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The relationship between Ianto and Paul continues its downward spiral.  
> Ending scene set between Cyberwoman and They Keep Killing Suzie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that this chapter is Ianto/OMC*. However, there is some slight Ianto/Jack towards the end, but it can be taken as friendship just as easily. Take it whichever way you see it is fine, either way is correct.  
> ALso, I was supposed to update this weeks ago and never did. But I do have a few excuses! I had to take an unexpected trip and ended up being gone longer than I thought I would when we tacked on a last-minute visit to some of my extended relatives (and we really don't get along that well), plus I came down with a pretty bad cold!  
> Anyway, Thanks for reading!

 Paul threw open the door and stalked across the flats entry and past the kitchen, finally stopping to stand in front of Ianto where he sat on the sofa. Ianto remarked Paul's heavier than normal breathing and the way his eyes were shooting daggers at him. Paul was furious, but Ianto had been expecting that. Ianto tried to control his own expression as much as possible. He didn't want the fear that had been slowly bubbling up since Paul had pushed open his door to show. He would be calm through this. Collected. He would not cry. His voice would not quiver. He would tell Paul what he needed to hear. He was doing this for Paul, he kept reminding himself. This was all for Paul.

 "What did you do with it Ianto?" Paul spat. Ianto raised his brows, determined to look as blase as possible despite his mounting anxiousness. Paul was tapping his foot expectantly and for a moment Ianto thought Paul looked years younger. Almost like a child. A bit of Ianto’s apprehensiveness receded. But just a bit.

 "Take what Paul?" Ianto asked, impressed at the levelness of his tone.

 "For Christs sake Ianto stop being a tosser! You took my kit! Now give it back, alright? I really don't feel like playing your games right now." Paul had started out nearly shouting, but his voice had become more and more whiney the longer he spoke.

 "Paul," Ianto sighed. "Listen to yourself. You sound like a five year old. Please, sit down." Ianto patted the space on the sofa next to him. Paul looked suspiciously from Ianto to the place on the sofa he had indicated. With a frown, he sidestepped the coffee table separating them and cautiously made his way over to sit beside Ianto. Paul crossed his arms and cocked his head in a way that Ianto used to find charming. But he was too busy wondered at Paul’s ability to switch between emotions so effortlessly to be charmed. Paul always managed to somehow change emotions so quickly. The constant coming and going of moods sometimes made Ianto’s head spin.

 “well?” Paul drawled, suddenly much calmer and breaking through Ianto’s reverie. This change in mood put Ianto even more on edge. An angry Paul was often more manageable than a calm Paul. Ianto took a few deep breaths, reminding himself of his plan and all the things he had meticulously thought out to say to Paul. It was now or never.

 “Paul, I just need to speak with you, Your behaviour lately has had me worried. And I just can’t do it anymore. I ca-”  
 “Can’t do what anymore Ianto? What the actual hell are you on about with this?” Paul interrupted, his voice a near shout again. Ianto wondered if Lauren across the hall could hear them. She probably could. He felt his facade fade rapidly.

 “This!” The decibel of Ianto’s voice was nearly matching Paul’s now. “I can’t deal with this anymore! I mean, okay, yeah at first? The crack? The other drugs? Yeah, I could deal with it. But it’s gotten out of hand. For Christs sake Paul! Have you looked at yourself lately?”

 “Are we really going to do this Ianto? Really? Because I’ve had a crap day and I really, really do not have the time for this.” Paul’s voice had lowered and he started rubbing his temples with his index fingers. He wasn’t even facing Ianto now, but he somehow managed to make Ianto feel like he was still glaring at him.

 “Thats what you always say. I’ve had a crap day, Johnny’s boyfriend wants him to leave the band and it’s causing you stress, your DJ gig cancels on you, your mom keeps hounding you to visit even though you hate your stepdad, your landlords a twat, the shop girl was a prick, Nate is being annoying. It’s always something!” Ianto was still yelling, and he didn’t care when Paul visibly winced. He was probably still feeling the aftershocks of the migraine he had complained about yesterday. It didn’t matter to Ianto.

 “And I, I have had it up to here” he continued, gesturing above his head and lowering his voice a bit, “With your crap! Okay? I’ve had it!” And Ianto saw the mist forming over his eyes. He swallowed and took a steadying breath, willing his breathing to even and his heart to slow its frantic pace.

 “Do you have any idea what it feels like to come back after my second job, my second steady job to your none, at midnight to find my place a wreck and you passed out on the sofa because you’ve decided to have your mates over? Over to do god knows what?” Ianto demanded.

 “Oh come off it Ianto.” Paul groaned, rising to his feet. “Quit being such a bloody, whining wanker.”

 “I am not being a wanker! Or whining! I’m just trying to say you’ve got to get your act together.” Ianto countered, scrambling to his feet. He hated having people stand over him, and Paul knew that.

 “Oh no, of course you’re not love. Thats just me getting silly ideas into my head!” Paul laughed, starting for the door.

 “No, Paul don’t you dare walk out that door! You do and you are not coming back through it. We’ll be finished. You got that Paul!” Ianto screamed. Paul hesitated briefly, his hand on the doorknob. He looked back at Ianto, his face serious for once. Ianto thought for the briefest of moments that he was going to walk back and they would finally be able to seriously discuss this. Ianto thought maybe, just maybe, his threat had worked. But Paul must have seen the anxiety, the dread Ianto was feeling, hoping against hope that Paul would just stop. Stop and come back. Because Paul just smiled and shook his head and Ianto knew he had lost.

 “You know Ianto, I almost think you believe that.” And he was out the door, humming as he went. Down the hall, past the lift, all the way to the east stairs and down. Leaving Ianto gaping at his still open door.

 Ianto started out admirably. He had managed to ignore Paul outright for four whole days, leaving for work a full hour before he needed to and staying out late or calling one of Paul’s friends to ask if Paul was out with them or back at his flat and could they please keep him distracted until he could get home? But then, on the fifth day, Paul had cornered him in the lift and Ianto found himself pressed up against the lift's doors, Paul kissing him for all his worth. The kiss continued into the hall, and down it, and finally on to the entrance of Ianto’s flat where he was just barely able to fumble his keys out of his pocket and unlock the door so they could stumble into his flat and to his bed.

 “you know Ianto,” Paul said a few hours and several rounds later, “I may be an addict, but so are you.”

 Ianto, now listening to Paul hum softly, begrudgingly agreed.

 

 Ianto heard the ruckus seeping from Paul’s flat before he even got to the hallway, and sighed heavily. Paul was throwing a party, the second one this week, and he had neglected to tell Ianto. Which had also happened for the second time this week. With a groan he took the final step up the stairs and began trudging down the hall. He noticed Lauren standing outside her flat, tapping her foot impatiently, scowl firmly planted in place. She had obviously been lying in wait for him. He didn’t really blame her.

 “Can you try and quiet that lot down in there? Some of us are actually trying to study for our University classes!” Lauren growled, her voice rising above the den emanating from Paul’s.  

 “Sorry Lauren, I had no idea Paul was going to have another party this week. He never told me! I’ll try make them tone it down, okay?” Ianto offered, shrugging his shoulders.

 “You had better succeed Ianto! Or I’ll call the police, our landlord, the local MP, I don’t care, just somebody that can get them to shut the hell up!.” She warned before swishing around and slamming her door in Ianto’s face.

 Ianto would never know how Paul was able to cram so many bodies into such a small space. He had actually once taken a very meticulous measurement of their two flats and had concluded that Paul’s was, in fact, no bigger than his own. Ianto’s furniture was similar in size to Paul’s. A when devoid of people, Ianto’s always seemed larger. But when there were people occupying a large portion of their two flats (as was more common than not), Paul’s always seemed able to accommodate the larger number of people. Ianto never could work that one out.

 Ianto thought he had gotten to know most of Paul’s friends, but after a cursory glance, only saw one he recognized. He sidled up to the man nicknamed God and waved his hand timidly. The guy was still a mystery to Ianto, but he had become as awed by him as everyone else was. Ianto had only heard him speak once, and that had been something about birds and sharks that Ianto only half understood but had gotten a round of applause and multiple murmured agreements from everyone else.

 “Hey!” Ianto greeted nervously, before continuing. “I was wondering if you had maybe seen Paul? I need to talk to him.”

 God looked down at him and frowned, looking thoughtful, before he shook his head.

 “Oh, okay, thats cool. I just thought maybe you would know… but I guess not! Okay, um, I guess I’ll just keep looking for him then!” Ianto said, backing away from God slowly. Honestly, Ianto was in awe of him, but he just outright intimidated Ianto sometimes.

 Scanning the room again, Ianto still found no sign of his wayward boyfriend. Spotting no one else he knew in the crowd, he began questioning after him from random strangers. None of them had any idea where Paul could be, and some didn’t even know who Paul was. Thinking maybe Paul had sequestered himself away to the privacy of his bedroom to relax, Ianto made his way through the pulsing crowd to the back of Paul’s flat, knocking once at the bedroom door before tentatively opening it. The bedroom was just as crowded with bodies as the rest of the flat, if not more so, but Paul wasn’t one of them. The only difference was that these bodies were somehow wearing even less clothes. Ignoring the propositions a few in the room were directing towards him, Ianto strode past them and on into the tiny bathroom, which was surprising empty. Frowning, Ianto began squeezing his way back through the crowd, trying to get to the exit. Just as he was about to leave, he looked back into the flat, taking one last survey of it in case Paul had wandered in while Ianto was looking in the bedroom. He saw God again, but closer to the terrace now, where a small group had cornered him. He looked up, saw Ianto watching him, and smiled. Not knowing what else to do, Ianto smiled back awkwardly, then retreated out the door into the sanctuary of the hall.

 Ianto looked left and then right twice, debating with himself momentarily whether he even wanted to check his flat for Paul. If he was there, he knew there would be a confrontation and shouting. But if he just went down to the corner shop… maybe he would find Paul getting more beer or cigarettes. Ultimately, the logic and time convenience of simply going to his own flat first won out. And the quicker he found Paul, the quicker he could get to sleep. With three steps, he was outside his door, key in the lock. Ianto’s brows furrowed in consternation. His door was already unlocked. Paul had forgotten to lock his door. Again. With a silent curse, Ianto nudged the door open, locking it behind him. Ianto knew, if Paul didn’t, the kind of seedy place he was living in and refused to take unnecessary chances.

 Two steps into his flat and Ianto froze. There were Paul’s tattered orange Converses on the floor beside the door. And next to them a pair of black ankle boots that he didn’t recognize as being either his or Pauls. The music and voices from Paul’s flat mingled with the rushing sound in his mind. Ianto couldn’t decide whether he felt more like crying or laughing. Resisting the urge to run out of the flat, to Laurens or maybe Nikki’s from work, back to Paul’s where he could just pretend this wasn’t happening, the need to be anywhere but in his own flat was overwhelming. Even running all the way back to Wales suddenly felt like a wonderful plan. After what felt like decades had passed with Ianto just standing by the door, eyes staring vaguely at the strange boots, Ianto faced forward. Squaring his shoulders and inhaling a shaky breath, Ianto took two more steps into the flat. This wasn’t totally unexpected, he reasoned. After all, Ianto had had his suspicions before. Paul just gave off those vibes that screamed I-don’t-do-exclusivity, and that was fine with Ianto. They were both too young for anything too serious. But this? This was different. This was disrespectful. The war between laughter and tears was over. Both had lost, in the end, when anger become the undisputed victor. With one last step he was at his bedroom door. He didn’t hesitate to open it.

  Ianto said nothing as he opened the door and flicked on the light, abruptly casting his lover and his lovers lover in a garish glow. Ianto felt a bit of his anger seep away at the comic sight of Paul and the stranger floundered on the bed, a messy tangle of limbs and curses. Nor did Ianto say a word as he opened his wardrobe, and began searching for his old dufflebag. It wasn’t hard to find. Neither were the two clean shirts, jeans, or clean underwear and socks that he threw into it. He felt, rather than saw or heard, Paul’s bedmate scurry from the room, grabbing his discarded clothes as he went. Ianto debated grabbing another pair of shoes, but figured his trainers would do for a few days. Standing from his crouching position before the wardrobe, Ianto heard Paul shift in the bed. Ianto knew what Paul was doing. If Ianto turned around now, he would see Paul sitting up, leaning comfortably against Ianto’s cheap headboard. Hair tussled, lips in a smirk, safe in the knowledge that Ianto wouldn’t really leave. Not for long anyway. Ianto never left for long.

 “Goodbye Paul.” Ianto stated, his voice emotionless.

 “Okay.” Paul sneered in reply.

 Ianto closed his eyes tightly, and breathed. He needed to calm down. Because in the past five minutes, Ianto had realized something that his subconscious had hinted at for months. That Paul simply was not worth it.

 “When you get around to leaving, don’t forget to lock up. I don’t fancy getting robber. Also, Lauren was complaining about the noise, get them to quiet down, would you?” Ianto asked, turning to leave. He heard Paul mumble an acknowledgement followed by what sounded Paul slinking down the bed. The prick was going to go to sleep as soon as Ianto left.

 Just as he got to the bedroom door, he turned around and looked Paul in the eyes. He saw no regret, no sorrow, no shame. Paul looked no different than he did after breakfast or coming out of the shower or making tea. He just looked normal. The desire to laugh resurfaced.

 “Go to hell Paul.” Ianto said, smiling.

 Ianto looked back at the various flyers splayed across his desk, advertising everything from the Swansea ferry to Cardiff castle, many proclaiming ‘Croeso i Cymru’ in red lettering. He was trying to figure out the best order to put them in on the racks, knowing it little mattered how they were displayed. Few people ever wondered into the little faux tourist information office. And he doubted that the few who did would care much how the colours and lettering and location of the attractions should be sorted.

 But he was bored. There had been so little rift activity lately, that the entire Hub had started fearing that that was a sign that something was really wrong. But it was all for nothing. It was simply a slow week, which meant that Ianto had cleaned the Hub earlier every day, which meant Ianto prepared the coffee earlier, and Myfanwy and the Weevils were fed earlier, and so on and on until Ianto ran out of things to do. Tosh had her tech projects, Owen was actually doing proper paperwork and research, Gwen was studying old case files, and Jack always had roofs to brood over or people to harass. Ianto had the tourist information office. And it hadn’t been organized for weeks. And it was a good distraction from the flyer he had noticed on his way to work. It was a simple green and black flyer, but it brought back so many emotions, and after what he had just gone through with Lisa? He wasn’t quite ready for a surge in emotions. But in two short weeks, Paul would be so near him, giving a performance not 10 minutes away from where he now sat. If it continued being so slow around the Rift, he could probably manage to see the concert. Put on a lot of black. Style his hair a little differently, muss it up a little. Be young again. Ianto was smiling widely now. He hadn’t been that person in a long time. And he would go back to it for what? The chance to see an old ex-boyfriend? One he had found cheating on him in his own bed? The one he had been a bit more than a little infatuated with? He felt silly, but feeling silly felt good for once.

 When Jack came through the down an hour later, apparently tired from roof brooding, Ianto was still smiling. He greeting Jack perhaps a bit too exuberantly though as Jack was now watching him, his expression an odd mixture of amusement and concern.

 “What’s wrong Ianto?” Jack asked, smiling, but his voice tinged with actual worry. “You seemed so down when you came in earlier, now you’re grinning like a maniac.”

 “Oh.” Ianto forced his smile to relax. “It’s nothing, really, sir. Just found out an old friend was going to be in Cardiff, and it’s been awhile. Old memories and all that. Thought I might go see them if the Rift is willing.”

 Suddenly, Jack was leering. Dreading what would come next, Ianto pressed the button, activated the mechanism to open the secret door. Jack kept on leering, ignoring the door, ignoring Ianto, really, as connections were made.

 “A friend hunh?” Jack began. “Usually ‘old friends’ don’t elicit such emotions from people, Ianto. And they surely don’t bring up smiles like that! It was an old girlfriend wasn’t it? Or maybe a girl you just fancied? Am I right?”

 “No, no, no. Nothing like that, sir.” Ianto answered. It was the truth. Sort of. Paul wasn’t a woman.

 Not feeling like talking any further, Ianto walked through the door, Jack following close behind. Talking as they made their way to the Hub. Needing to get away, Ianto was about to excuse himself to the archives when the Rift alert sounded. The moment after they went off, Ianto made a decision. He wouldn’t go see Paul. After all, the past was the past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *WARNING! The rest of this note contains mild spoilers for the Torchwood novel "The Twilight Streets".
> 
> The Paul that is mentioned in "The Twilight Streets" is the same Paul mentioned in these last two chapters. The following is an extract from that book:  
> "Gwen's frowning face popped back into view. 'Fine. Great and, umm, no not yet. Oh, know any good DJs?'  
> 'My mate Paul,' Ianto said. 'But you probably wouldn't want his kind of music. A bit... cheesy...'".
> 
> It IS a vv mild spoiler, but I wanted to give the warning just in case. Thanks!


End file.
